Raphael of Valetta
by saruviel
Summary: Inspired by the 'Damiano' Trilogy of books from the 1980s by Roberta Ann MacAvoy, comes this short fanfic set in Malta. Features Raphael, Saara, Lucifer briefly and new character Isabelle (Saara's daughter). Set years after the trilogy in a new earth paradise.


Raphael of Valletta

by D.T.A. Daly Copyright 2013

dedicated to R.A. MacAvoy

Raphael glided down through the aether, slowly, like a divine waterfall, cascading all the brilliant light of God's greater glories, a shimmering lightstorm in his wake. It was like that, when one of the Archangels of God descended from the heavenlies and God desired his glory known. He would anoint the angel as he flew, and watch him as he descended down to the children of men, a special private delight the One shared with none, but enjoyed in the pinnacles of his splendid creation.

Lucifer stood on the 'Tower Supreme', whose four walls ever defied the presence of the Most High, and watched as the angel flew, descending downwards from heaven above, down to the world below the new world of the new creation God's new creation and almost snarled, yet repented somewhat and then, softly said, 'May God be with you, Raphael, and aid you in your task.'  
Even the father of lies was redeemed somewhat in the new paradise.

Saara sipped on the white wine, sitting in the bright sunlight, and looked out on the scenery around her. The Majesty of Valetta, now the pinnacle of Terra, the old world. For when the strait of Gibraltar had been filled in, and the whole Mediterranean drained back out into the Atlantic, one of the whims of the Roman Senate, yet upheld by all of Europa regardless, in honour of their ancient overlords, whose standing in the new world was surprisingly good. Much respected in Catholic tradition after all. Much respected.  
Julius Caesar had dug the first sod of dirt, and turned it over, in preparation for Gibraltar's infilling, and then, several months being all it had taken, a new world had emerged, marked with parks and fine buildings, lakes and water features, and beauties only the greatest architects of the new world could fashion. For the minds of 1875 were astonishing minds, minds of brilliance, and the new world was a marvel as it unfolded, the tower of God's glorious creation.  
Saara sipped on her wine and heard the familiar sound of music, as the angel approached. She sat on her divan and as Raphael glided down into her presence, she marvelled once more at his beauty and grace.  
'Fair day, Mighty One of God,' said Saara.  
Raphael's humility brought just a short nod, as he sat on a stone pillar seat, and poured some juice from the glass pitcher.  
'I have something on my mind,' said Raphael at last.  
Saara stood, came around, and draped her arms on the shoulders of her beloved friend.  
'What troubles you, Lord.'  
'Valetta is the heart, now, of Terra, for it has been chosen, and I rule here. For Michael lives in Jerusalem, and Gabriel reigns in New York. And I am Raphael of Valetta.'  
'As all know,' said Saara, regaining her seat, and sipping again on her wine.  
'Yet I must find a greater. And on the lute. For it is a challenge from God, to find the supreme Lutist of the children of men, and the three divisions must each offer a child of glory for the final contest.'  
'Simple. Choose Damiano,' she smiled.  
He looked at her, but the look acknowledge a point in his own mind which made it not that simple.  
'Damiano is not fit for this contest. Besides, he is disqualified. The father wants only newborns of the new world to contest. And despite Damiano's age regardless, he is under the weather. A bout of pox is upon him.'  
'I did not know,' said Saar, feeling pity for her friend.  
'I have come,' he began slowly, 'because your own daughter is the most gifted I have seen. She has been taught well by both Damiano and my own tutelages, and, with your permit, I would contest with her.'  
'Isabelle!' called Lady Saara. 'Come at once.'  
Shortly a young blondeish youth of 15 presented herself, garbed in a beautiful aquamarine roman robe, and with looks of a maiden of supreme beauty.  
'Will you contest for Raphael? We need Europa's greatest lutist?'  
Isabelle's eyes opened wide. 'Master Raphael. It would be an honour.'  
Raphael gently nodded.  
'Grab your lute,' spoke Saara, and Isabelle departed to soon return, and sat in front of them, playing her tune.  
The God of creation, anointing the playing, watched happily as his son Raphael was surprised by the dextrous and skilful playing of the youth, and delighted in Raphael's humble heart in acknowledging the greatness of the player's talent.  
'You are a gem,' he said, when she had finished.  
Isabelle brought forth the lute to her master. 'Play for me, Raphael.'

And Raphael played.

And Raphael of Valetta played, as the city shot lights and sparks of divine glory here and there in its dominion, and those present and noticing that day would wonder for many years the fuss of splendour God was exciting himself with.

The End 


End file.
